𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧

59⚚ Pure love

Authors POV:

Viraj hadn't moved for the past one hour. Not an inch. He sat on the floor beside her bed, arms resting loosely on his knees, head slightly bowed.

His dark eyes—red, hollow, and drained—were fixated on Amaira's sleeping face, unmoving, unblinking. It was as though time had come to a standstill in that room.

She lay peacefully now, a saline tube connected to the back of her hand, her features soft and serene—so unlike the chaos she'd been pulled from just hours ago.

But Viraj... he was anything but peaceful. His body was still, but inside, he was crumbling.

An hour earlier, the doctor had stepped out of the room. All the brothers—Rithvik, Daksh, Ash, and Gaurav—had immediately rushed to her, questions tumbling out like a flood.

But Viraj hadn't moved. Not a word. Not a gesture. He didn't even lift his eyes. He just stood there, a statue carved from pain and silence.

The doctor, the same woman who had confirmed Amaira's pregnancy day ago, looked at them all—then let out a soft sigh.

She had seen love in Viraj's eyes the other day, burning so fiercely it was impossible to ignore. But now she only saw void—a suffocating emptiness that told her all she needed to know.

"She is fine," the doctor said gently. "Just exhausted and tired."

The collective breath of relief from the brothers filled the hallway. But Viraj... still nothing. No shift. No exhale. He just kept staring through the walls, his fingers clenching tighter around nothing.

"But—" the doctor continued.

And that one word... that but snapped him to attention. His breath stilled. His head turned the slightest inch in her direction.

"She somehow inhaled chloroform," the doctor said carefully. "It affected the baby a little. So we need to monitor her weekly. And you... you need to make sure she doesn't stress. No emotional strain. No skipping meals. No missing sleep. No more recklessness."

Viraj's grip on his knee tightened until his knuckles turned white. The world tilted slightly, like it had shifted on its axis. His worst fear—their baby—was affected.

The doctor's voice softened more as she added, "And her diet needs to be carefully maintained from now on."

She lingered for a second longer, then turned to Viraj and said quietly, "You can wait inside. She'll wake up soon."

Viraj gave a very slight nod. Barely there. The smallest movement, yet the loudest scream of emotion he could manage in that moment.

The doctor's words echoed like a mantra in his mind—they are safe.

But no matter how many times the words played, they didn't land. Not on his heart. Not on his soul.

Because he isn't safe. Not yet. Not until she opened her eyes. Not until Amaira looked at him again with those warm, stubborn, loving eyes and told him they are okay.

Not until he heard her voice—cracked, whispered, anything. He just needed something from her... something that told him this wasn't a nightmare he failed to prevent.

For the past one hour, Viraj hadn't moved. He sat like a statue made of grief and guilt, barely breathing, his gaze locked on the steady rise and fall of Amaira's chest.

Each breath she took was the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He sat close, as if his presence could shield her from every memory, every trace of pain. And if the universe ever doubted the depth of his love—this was it.